


Jamais vu

by emeraldpalace



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Minor Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Possessive Sex, Sad Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Romantic Tension, its fwb but the focus is on the friends part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldpalace/pseuds/emeraldpalace
Summary: He thinks that Atsumu knows, to some extent. They both know that there’s something there, something more in the lingering touches after they’re done, in the quiet looks and quieter kisses in pale moonlight that they share in wordless understanding.But Atsumu knows that Kiyoomi isn’t ready—and Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu never waits for anyone.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 38
Kudos: 122





	Jamais vu

**Author's Note:**

> If you've seen me being annoying about "sad fwb" then yes this is it! finally!!!! 
> 
> A huge big enormous thank you to [Akane](https://twitter.com/bottomikun) for continuously bullying me into finishing my wips and especially for beta-reading this<3
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s almost suffocatingly warm when Kiyoomi steps into the izakaya, but Hinata already noticed him from the long table that the team reserved for the evening. He’s waving at him with a bright smile so there’s no room left to escape even if he wanted to.

He considered not going, as he does about half the time with any team bonding activity, but today is a good day—his body and mind feel light, practice went well, and it’s a weeknight, so the place is not as full as it would be otherwise. He’s not really as antisocial as some people think he is.

He makes a sour face at having to sit next to Atsumu at the very end of the table, but it’s more for show than anything else. He’s glad to sit next to the wall where no one passes by, and by now it’s no secret that he and Atsumu can tolerate each other at the very least. They’re good colleagues, maybe even friends, despite the bickering—or maybe even because of it.

Atsumu teases him, Kiyoomi quips something back and takes a seat. Atsumu asks him if he wants some water and then pours it into Kiyoomi’s glass himself. He blinks and says a surprised ‘thanks’, to which Atsumu only grins. By the fourth or fifth time that Atsumu pours or plates something for him, Kiyoomi realizes that he’s doing it so he doesn’t have to touch all the plates and bottles touched by so many other people, which is an unexpectedly thoughtful action, albeit unnecessary.

He tells Atsumu as much, who only waves him off and tells him that he wants to do it—and really, who is Kiyoomi to deny Atsumu’s innate need to feel useful? He later shares one of his gyoza with his setter in turn and relishes in Atsumu’s face lighting up with a bright grin.

They continue like that for the whole evening, something warm slowly but steadily building between them. Quiet conversations are shared as they barely pay attention to anyone else. Atsumu’s red cheeks lean into him as he laughs about something Kiyoomi says. Their thighs brush against one another and Atsumu twitches away immediately, but when Kiyoomi shifts his leg closer once again, neither of them move. At some point Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows when mentioning Kiyoomi’s _skilled hands_ , and not a minute later Kiyoomi tells Atsumu not to worry his _pretty little head_ about something. He even dares take a sip right from Atsumu’s beer glass, even if he cringes immediately as he yet again confirms that he doesn’t even _like_ beer. Atsumu cackles at him, and the sound alone washes away anything negative he might have been thinking in the moment.

Kiyoomi can’t claim to be the most experienced in things like this, but he’s not blind to it either.

A couple of hours later, the evening comes to its natural conclusion and the team starts to disperse. The family men like Meian and Barnes take their leave first, but it’s as good of a moment as any for everyone else to wrap it up too.

“Are you going to walk?” Atsumu asks him with a spring his step once they’re outside. Even in the dim evening lighting, his cheeks glow a pretty red.

“Yeah, I don’t live that far.”

“Where d’you need to go?”

Kiyoomi points down a street. “About twenty minutes from here.”

“Oh, I’m in that direction too!”

And so they take to Osaka’s streets together, occasionally making idle chatter, but mostly walking in companionable silence, their brushing hands speaking for themselves.

(“Oh, sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi tells him after the first time, giving him a meaningful look. Atsumu doesn’t apologize again.)

The walk to his apartment feels like the longest dream and the shortest eternity all at once as countless thoughts rush through Kiyoomi’s tipsy brain, doing cartwheels about what may or may not, possibly, just maybe, come next.

“... That’s me,” he says once they reach his building. Atsumu puts his hands in his jacket pockets, shifts his weight around, and then looks up at Kiyoomi with rare doubt in his eyes.

“So, uh, I’ll… see you at practice… I guess?”

Kiyoomi can’t claim to be the most experienced in things like this, but he thinks, he hopes—no, he _knows_ that he’s not misreading this.

“...Do you want to come in?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen before he nods a fervent yes. The elevator ride is quietly tense, barely suppressed giddiness enveloping them when their gazes meet before quickly moving away from each other.

Kiyoomi can barely lock his door and take off his jacket and mask before Atsumu steps up to move closer to him. Atsumu places a hand on his chest and looks up at him with wide pupils.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Kiyoomi leans in first.

It’s a whirlwind of sensations after that. First he’s pressed against the wall while deft hands unbutton his shirt as their tongues get acquainted. Then Atsumu straddles him on his own bed and pulls at his hair, even as Kiyoomi is busy admiring the curve of Atsumu’s thighs transitioning seamlessly to his firm ass. He gets taken apart and put back together with Atsumu’s mouth, his hands, and finally his cock in torturous ways that he’s never experienced before—hell, he never even knew that he was capable of coming twice in one night. Needless to say, by the end he’s left catching his breath with full satisfaction thrumming through his veins, and he gets the impression that Atsumu found it more than adequate too.

That’s why he’s all the more taken aback when he sees Atsumu get up from his bed and start to put on his socks.

“Where are you going?”

“Uh,” Atsumu replies intelligently. “I thought I should probably get back…”

“You can stay the night,” Kiyoomi replies, surprising even himself when he finds that he means it.

“Wait, you don’t mind?”

“I’m not heartless, I’m not just going to just kick you out and make you walk home this late.”

“Oh. Uh... thanks! Should I just take the couch or—”

Kiyoomi sits up and fixes Atsumu with a glare.

“Miya, I just had your dick in my ass. I think I’ll be fine sharing a bed with you.”

Atsumu chokes out a surprised laugh. “Okay, okay, gotcha—thanks.” He grins and gives Kiyoomi a quick peck on the lips.

It’s unbearably cute, even as Kiyoomi remembers that that mouth had his cum in it not even half an hour earlier.

“Do take a shower though. And brush your teeth.”

“I didn’t exactly bring a toothbrush with me, y’know?”

“I have spare ones in the bathroom.”

“Alright then,” Atsumu drawls and then looks down at his boxers strewn on the floor, a wet patch noticeable on the pair.

“You don’t suppose I could borrow some underwear too? Should be about the same size, right?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t exactly prefer to share his underwear with others, but he guesses that if Atsumu is to sleep next to him, then it’s better that he at least has clean clothes for it.

“Sure.”

He gets up and walks over to his closet and grabs a pair of briefs, as well as a new towel for Atsumu.

“Oh, so fluffy!” he says, marveling at the texture of the black fleece. It’s Kiyoomi’s favourite, but he decides that Atsumu doesn’t need to know that.

“The toothbrushes are under the sink,” is all he replies as he proceeds to change the bedsheets. A minute later he can faintly hear Atsumu sing in the shower—not even badly, to his surprise.

He decidedly avoids looking at him when he comes out wearing Kiyoomi’s underwear, but he can’t help but stare once he returns to his room. Atsumu is already buried under the blanket, lying on his stomach while hugging one of Kiyoomi’s pillows. His soft, even breaths are audible in the complete silence of the room.

He doesn’t look out of place, sleeping in Kiyoomi’s bed like that.

* * *

He expected the morning after to be terribly awkward. It’s somewhat embarrassing when he wakes up and realizes that Atsumu has woken up before him, teasing him about his light snore, but it could’ve been worse. They have a simple, casual conversation as they get dressed and Kiyoomi asks what Atsumu wants to eat. Atsumu teases Kiyoomi for his apparently boring taste in breakfast foods, and Kiyoomi teases Atsumu about his childish one. It’s surprisingly normal considering what happened last night.

“So, uh,” Atsumu says after they’ve been eating in silence for a few moments. Kiyoomi steels his mind.

“I really liked last night, just so you know.”

It’s not the ‘ _What are we?_ ’ conversation that Kiyoomi was dreading all morning.

“...I did too,” Kiyoomi slowly replies.

“Heh. Glad to be of service,” Atsumu quips and looks up at Kiyoomi with the same uncertainty as when they stood in front of his apartment yesterday. “So, like… Would you wanna do that again?”

Kiyoomi forgets to chew for a moment. After a moment of shock he swallows thickly, because—well, he tried not getting his hopes up, no matter how much he enjoyed last night.

“I… yes. Sure.”

Atsumu grins up at him in reply—and that’s that.

They go about their days, still acting the exact same way they always do, and they don’t talk about what happened in any way whatsoever. Kiyoomi could almost forget it happened at all, if it weren’t for Atsumu’s borrowed toothbrush still sitting in the cup in his bathroom.

He could throw it away since it’s only taking up space without being used—for now. They both agreed that they wouldn’t be opposed to _it_ happening again. Kiyoomi thinks he could probably text Atsumu and Atsumu would probably be willing to come over, but that means Kiyoomi would have to be the one to take the plunge, to vocalize in all seriousness what he wants and to be at the mercy of someone else to give it to him.

 **Miya Atsumu  
**>he

He gets the text late one evening and is confused because he can’t remember the last time Atsumu texted him anything, actually.

>sorry sent that early  
>lol

That makes sense, though Kiyoomi still has to wait a solid minute to get another string of messages.

>SO  
>hey  
>do you wanna come over?  
>to have some fun  
>if you know what I mean  
> ;)  
>Or not!!!! we can also just watch a movie or smth!!!!!!!!

Kiyoomi snorts. Even he can feel the second-hand awkwardness over those texts and he wonders if Atsumu is actually this shameless or if he’s having another one of his dramatic embarrassing breakdowns right at this moment. Either image is somewhat endearing, in a mean way.

<Sure, I’ll come over. For fun.  
<”if you know what I mean”   
<What are you, twelve?

>yeah, on a scale of 1-10 ;P  
>but yeah, I’m home, come by whenever ig

<You should probably give me your address first

>OH. Right

Atsumu does send it, and when Kiyoomi checks the location he’s surprised to see that it’s farther away than he assumed. It’s still roughly in the same direction as his apartment when coming from the bar they went to last time, but Atsumu took an inconveniently big detour by walking all the way to Kiyoomi’s apartment with him. He’s not sure what to do with that information, so he pushes it away for now, instead opting to simply pack a set of toiletries and get ready for their… meeting.

During their first time, they kind of stumbled into it through their mutual tipsiness and the giddiness that comes with something new and unexplored, curiosity and excitement drawing them to each other first and foremost without much thought to what was actually happening.

Now, when Atsumu opens the door to his apartment, it’s a little more difficult: they stare at each other with awkward sobriety, both of them knowing full well what they’re here for but neither quite sure how to start the process.

“Do you wanna, like…” Atsumu gestures around incomprehensibly, and Kiyoomi sighs.

“Let’s just get to it, Miya.”

And with that, Atsumu leads him to his bed and Kiyoomi crowds him into it. Atsumu pulls him down by his hair into a kiss and Kiyoomi grinds his knee into his crotch as revenge. He relishes in being the one to make Atsumu squirm around his fingers this time around, delights in making Atsumu’s usual smartass comments devolve into broken cries and moans as he fucks into him from below. He even likes the way that Atsumu collapses on his chest when he comes, and Kiyoomi wraps his arms around him during his own last thrusts before spilling into Atsumu’s tight heat.

Atsumu then lifts his head up and smirks at him wickedly before grinding back onto his cock again.

Kiyoomi hisses. “Asshole, I’m _sensitive_ —”

“Aw, are you now—” Atsumu yelps indignantly when Kiyoomi pushes him off his dick and onto the bed.

“Hey! You ever heard of aftercare?” he cries while Kiyoomi ignores him in order to get rid of the condom.

“Omi-kuuun,” Atsumu whines again, and when he turns around his teammate is pouting and making childish grabby arms at him. Kiyoomi sighs and lies down on top of him again, Atsumu’s hands immediately wrapping around him and stroking over his back and hair.

“Should’ve known that you’d be clingy,” he mumbles out.

“Aw, d’you hate it?” Atsumu chuckles lightly, but there’s still a seriousness in the question.

“... I can tolerate it.”

“Ha! I bet you’re just as clingy as me, you’re just too shy to admit it.”

Kiyoomi grumbles something into Atsumu’s chest, too blissfully tired to really retort anything coherent. The fingertips running over his scalp are unfairly relaxing.

* * *

And so it becomes a _thing_. Kiyoomi is not sure what to call it because anything along the lines of ‘ _friends with benefits_ ’ sounds incredibly tacky to him, but that’s just about what it is: Nothing really changes about their relationship in their daily lives, they’re still teammates and mutual annoyances first and foremost, but sometimes they also get together and fuck around. Literally.

It’s almost addictive, falling into it. It’s easy since they like similar things, and it’s plain fun because much like in volleyball, neither of them would ever let the other get away with not doing their best. Atsumu shamelessly tells him that he likes being told how hot he is, and Kiyoomi in turn admits that he likes some roughness and pain. Atsumu throws him a competitive grin at that, and Kiyoomi never backs down from a challenge. They don’t really talk about what they are or what it means, but he doesn’t think they need to—it’s easy and fun, there’s no need to make it more complicated than it needs to be.

It’s maybe after the sixth, seventh time that they’re eating breakfast together the morning after when Atsumu asks, “Hey, you wanna grab dinner together sometime?”

The miso soup slides down Kiyoomi’s throat too quickly, scorching his insides painfully, but he suppresses the urge to wince with a slow, careful exhale. Atsumu looks up at him expectantly, his eyebrows turned just enough degrees to betray a contained nervousness. Kiyoomi wishes Atsumu wasn’t looking at him at all.

“You mean… as a date?”

“Yeah.”

Kiyoomi swallows. “...I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Atsumu’s face noticeably drops, and Kiyoomi’s heart does with it.

“Oh. That’s… Alright then.”

He knows he shouldn’t feel guilt. He has every right to accept and reject anyone for any reason, but a part of him wishes he’d immediately said yes, even if he knows that this is better for both of them.

“It’s not that I… dislike you,” he starts again, terribly awkward, but he does owe Atsumu this much. “But I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“Ah. Well, I get it, that’s okay.” Atsumu brushes him off with surprising ease, but it doesn’t relieve the tight knot strangling his insides.

“... Sorry.”

“What? Aw, you don’t have to apologize for something like that,” Atsumu coos at him with a smile and Kiyoomi wants to reply that he _knows_ but Atsumu continues, “It’s not like I’m madly in love with you or anything, I just thought that since we’re already… “

He waves his chopsticks around between them, like that’s any way to encompass whatever it is they’ve been doing the past few weeks. “I thought I might as well try and see what happens, but I’m not gonna lose sleep over it, y’know?”

Kiyoomi nods. Maybe a part of him is slightly disappointed that Atsumu is acting so nonchalantly about it, but what right does he have to feel disappointed when he just said ‘no’ himself? Truly, he should be glad that neither of them is emotionally invested in this. It’s reassuring actually, he tells himself.

“That’s good then,” he confirms once again, more for his own sake than anything else.

An awkward moment of silence follows as they slowly resume eating their breakfast.

“Do you… still want to get dinner sometime?” Atsumu speaks up again. “Just as friends, of course! Like, just to hang out and stuff?”

“Oh.” Kiyoomi clears his throat. “Sure, sounds good.” He returns the uneasy smile with his own. Just as friends. He can do that. He can be friends, if only for the sake of Atsumu’s relieved smile.

* * *

“You said ‘ _no’!_?” Motoya exclaims. “Why!?”

“Because I can’t do relationships.”

“Says who?”

“Says _me_.”

Motoya looks at him with sad eyes and tight lips. They’ve talked about this more than once, and while Kiyoomi knows that he’s being frustrating, he also knows better than anyone what is and isn’t right for himself. That, he’s sure of.

“But you’re still going to keep sleeping with him?”

Initially Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if that would be the case after that morning, but considering how they’ve already fucked three times since then…

“Yes.”

Motoya sighs, sending him that one look. The one that somehow manages to be both pitying and reprimanding at the same time. Kiyoomi hates it.

“What?”

“Well… Just take care of yourself, alright?”

He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, you know how you can get… invested, sometimes.”

“I’m not _invested_ ,” he immediately scoffs, and Motoya raises an eyebrow at him. Maybe that did come out slightly more defensive than he intended. “I’m not invested,” Kiyoomi repeats more calmly, “and neither is he. We’re just… casual. That’s a perfectly normal arrangement, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but—” Motoya bites his lip, and then sighs in defeat once again. “Just be careful, okay?”

Kiyoomi would think it condescending if it came from anyone else—but he knows that Motoya’s words always come from a place of concern. “Of course. I will.”

He’s always careful, after all.

* * *

Atsumu turns around under the covers, _again_ , and Kiyoomi has _had_ it.

“Miya, I am _this_ close to making you sleep on the couch.”

Atsumu turns to him with an affronted gasp. “You wouldn’t!”

“I will if you don’t stop moving around so much because _some_ of us are actually trying to sleep.”

“I can’t help it! I just keep thinking about the match, how can I sleep like that!?”

Kiyoomi can’t fully blame him—they played a friendly match today, in their home stadium no less, and lost spectacularly in only three sets. Each set was close, incredibly close, and they definitely _could_ have won any one of them, but coming _this_ close only to lose at the end can sting even more than suffering a crushing defeat.

They were quiet in the locker rooms afterwards, even quieter as they walked back to Kiyoomi’s place, only to let out all their frustrations on each other once the door closed—both of them will surely wake up with fresh sets of scratches and bruises, but Kiyoomi at least feels like he vented his feelings as he much as could. Atsumu, meanwhile, is always someone who stews in his frustrations for as long as he can.

Kiyoomi sighs. “What’s done is done. We just have to review our mistakes and do better next time.”

“...Think they’ve already sent us the video for it?” Atsumu’s voice has lost its whiny edge. _Oh no._

“They’ll probably send it tomorrow.”

“D’you have other videos of the Rockets?”

Kiyoomi knows where this is going and he doesn’t like it one bit, but he also knows that he’s bragged to Atsumu about his extensive collection of match videos—he’d be caught in a lie immediately.

“...Yes, but—“

“Great!” Atsumu immediately sits up with excitement. “Then we can watch those and think of more strategies to counter them!”

“I am _not_ getting out of bed at god knows what time just to watch a match—“

“Then we’ll take your laptop and watch it in bed!” Atsumu promptly switches on Kiyoomi’s bedside lamp and gets out to get said laptop from his desk. “Where’re your DVD’s?”

Kiyoomi ponders over every bad life decision that has led him up to this point and gets up with a sigh.

He walks to his living room and opens his carefully organized media cabinet, sorted by year and winning team, immediately picking out the disc he’s already had in mind. Returning to his room, he finds that Atsumu has already made himself comfortable—pillows stacked high against the headboard and Kiyoomi’s laptop lying ready on the blanket next to him.

“What did you pick?”

“Rockets vs. Raijin—“

“Ooh, the one from last year? That’s good, we can actually study both of them!“

“... Right,” Kiyoomi replies neutrally as he climbs back into the bed. He actually chose it because it’s the shortest he has, but if Atsumu is going to make him stay up even longer, then he might as well make the most of it.

Kiyoomi pulls the device onto his lap and inserts the DVD while Atsumu scoots closer to him.

“Can we cuddle?”

By now Kiyoomi should be used to Atsumu’s shameless way of asking for what he wants, and for sex, he is—Atsumu, as always, is a talker, and a demanding one at that.

But even more than that, Kiyoomi is surprised by how needy Atsumu ends up being around him afterwards when he’s never given that impression to him before. He didn’t expect to learn how touchy of a person Atsumu really is.

He wondered why he never noticed before, and the revelation came to him one day during practice—it’s not that Atsumu isn’t touchy, it’s that he specifically avoids being touchy with Kiyoomi. He has no problem giving him a clap on the back or teasing him by asking for high fives, but he does always wait for Kiyoomi to actually reciprocate it, and he doesn’t go out of his way to throw his arms around his shoulders or ruffle his hair like he might do with their other teammates.

But when they’re alone like this, Kiyoomi learns how much Atsumu wants to touch and be touched, how he always pulls them closer together, how even when he’s being fucked within an inch of his life, he always makes sure to have his hands somewhere on Kiyoomi’s body, and they like to stay there right until the moment that Kiyoomi pulls away first.

Some days he thinks he’s had enough and he asks Atsumu to stay on his own side of the bed afterwards, but even on the days that he doesn’t, Atsumu always asks whether he can hug or kiss him before doing anything more, and Kiyoomi values the consideration.

Tonight is one of the nights that perhaps, just maybe, Kiyoomi wants some physical affection too. Just a little bit. He readily lifts his arm and Atsumu nestles into his chest with a quiet cheer.

The match starts and both of them decidedly shift into volleyball mode, analyzing players and strategies and debating over who should’ve done what at every turn. If Kiyoomi’s thumb traces idly over Atsumu’s biceps and Atsumu’s arm rests warmly on his stomach, then neither of them mention it.

* * *

**Ushijima Wakatoshi  
**>I will be in Osaka next weekend. Would you like to meet up?

It’s not an unusual message to get—in fact, if Kiyoomi scrolls up in his chat history he will see many similar ones with perhaps a different location, both from Wakatoshi and himself, but this one catches him off-guard nonetheless.

Right—Kiyoomi does have another… arrangement of this sort. It’s almost easy to forget considering how much time he’s been spending with Atsumu.

<When would work for you?

They meet at one of Kiyoomi’s usual trusted restaurants. It’s always nice to meet up with Wakatoshi—just old friends catching up with each other’s lives, talking about the current season and future career prospects.

(“Poland? Congratulations. I assume you’ll accept?”

“Probably. Did you get any offers?”

“... I have, though I think I’m… comfortable where I am, for now.”)

They have a nice dinner, both of them pay for their respective meals, and then they walk back home to Kiyoomi’s apartment and unceremoniously start making out on his bed.

Wakatoshi seems caught slightly off-guard when Kiyoomi sits down in his lap and pushes him into the sheets, though he quickly turns their positions around by grabbing Kiyoomi’s hips in a vice grip and pushing him on his back.

They slide each other’s T-shirts off as they continue making out, one of Wakatoshi’s hands coming up to tug at Kiyoomi’s hair—great, but slightly off of where he wants it to be, not quite with the right amount of pull.

“You can go harder,” he mumbles out, and catches only a glimpse of a frown before Wakatoshi grabs his curls and tugs more—still too low on his skull but he makes up for it in sheer strength that leaves Kiyoomi gasping for breath.

Wakatoshi, as always, is direct and straightforward—he undresses both of them with efficiency, and he quickly makes work of preparing Kiyoomi’s asshole. It feels just a little too fast—there’s no talking, no teasing, hands slightly too rough and too big, meticulous, but nothing like the precision of a setter’s fingers—Kiyoomi shakes off the thoughts. It’s probably rude to think about other people when you’re trying to get fucked.

“C’mon, get on with it,” Kiyoomi whines with a light kick of his foot against Wakatoshi’s side. He’s been fucking him with three fingers for way too long now—Kiyoomi doesn’t need as much preparation as he used to.

Wakatoshi looks at him for another long second. “Very well,” he says and then turns Kiyoomi around with a too-large palm. His thick cock slides in fully with one merciless motion, making Kiyoomi gasp out at the pleasure-pain. Wakatoshi still doesn’t waste time in starting an equally merciless pace, hitting Kiyoomi’s insides in a way that’s just on the edge of being too painful in the best way possible.

“Fuck, that _hurts_ ,” Kiyoomi groans, and he’s absolutely blindsided when Wakatoshi stops his movements entirely.

“Was that too much?”

“I—no, no, I liked it,” Kiyoomi scrambles to reply. He realizes that Wakatoshi would take anything that sounded like a complaint as such, as opposed to Atsumu, who would simply taunt him into taking it some more.

“You’ve been more... talkative than usual, today.”

 _Mouthy_ is the word that comes to Kiyoomi’s mind instead, because that’s just the way he describes Atsumu, and how Atsumu also started teasing him whenever Kiyoomi felt like engaging in their competitive spirit, trying to find buttons to push and feeling the consequences on his body.

“I… got used to sleeping with someone else, I suppose.”

“I see,” Wakatoshi replies matter-of-factly—there’s no judgement or disappointment in his voice, only simple acknowledgement. They’ve done this long enough to know that there truly are no deeper feelings involved in this. “Would you like me to do something differently?”

He imagines Wakatoshi being a bratty little whore like Atsumu just for a second and decides that that is a terrible, cursed image.

“No, just—go ahead as usual.”

Wakatoshi is nothing if not obedient, and he grabs Kiyoomi by his hair and pushes him back into the pillows, fucking into him with renewed vigour. It quickly leaves Kiyoomi moaning and gripping at the sheets, straining his back when Wakatoshi grabs onto him and pulls his hips back onto his cock with even more force.

It’s good—fantastic even, simple but effective because Wakatoshi knows exactly what Kiyoomi wants and enjoys. He presses and pushes just the right amount, and soon enough Kiyoomi loses himself in the unforgiving pace—he comes with a deep, guttural groan, and whines as Wakatoshi continues fucking him through his orgasm until he reaches his own climax and cages Kiyoomi in with his own weight.

A minute later, Wakatoshi gets up and throws his condom in the trash before gathering up his clothes and starting to get dressed.

“Don’t you want to shower?” Kiyoomi asks blearily.

Wakatoshi blinks at him. “I’ll shower at the hotel.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” Of course he would, since they never spend the whole night together. Kiyoomi forgot for a moment.

He quickly gets up and puts on a bathrobe to escort Wakatoshi to the door. It’s what they usually do, but a part of Kiyoomi feels somewhat empty at the formality of it all.

“I’ll see you.”

“See you. Good luck in Poland.”

Wakatoshi nods. “Good luck to you, too, with whoever you’re seeing.”

The comment takes Kiyoomi off guard. “We… We’re not really seeing each other. We just sleep together.”

“But it’s different from us, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Wakatoshi leaves with a final goodbye, closing the door behind him.

 _Of course it’s different_ , Kiyoomi tries to justify for the rest of the night. _They’re different people. It’s normal that it feels different._

He’s almost convinced himself of that as he prepares to go to sleep, when his phone lights up with a notification.

 **Miya Atsumu  
**>Yo how dyou feel about bondage

No formalities, no hesitation. Kiyoomi releases a sound that’s between a scoff and a laugh.

<For you or for me?

>both of us duh  
>I take dibs on being tied up first tho

<Fine. Do you want handcuffs, rope or silks?

>oh shit  
>I thought we’d just use a scarf or smth  
>Silks and handcuffs both sound hot

Kiyoomi doesn’t tell him, but those would also be his choices. He’s found that he and Atsumu overlap in surprisingly many of their preferences.

With a start he thinks that he’s never talked about these things with Wakatoshi. They’ve discussed what they like and dislike physically, of course, but they never went beyond the easy carnality of sex itself—neither of them had ever suggested trying out anything new, using props or calling each other certain names. He realizes that he doesn’t even mind since they’re both still satisfied at the end of it, but he imagines that he might get bored if they saw each other as often as he sees Atsumu.

He feels mean thinking that, but thanks to Atsumu he’s found so many more options to make himself feel good—and in turn it made him more open with his own suggestions that leave Atsumu speechless but with pupils ultimately widening before he grins and says, “Omi-kun, you _genius_.”

He and Wakatoshi have a good, working arrangement—but he and Atsumu have a _dynamic_. The thought leaves his chest feeling a little warmer.

* * *

One day as they’re changing in the locker room before practice, something catches Kiyoomi’s eye and it makes his heart drop heavily into his stomach.

Dark marks, on Atsumu’s thighs. They haven’t met each other outside of practice in over a week.

He only catches a quick glimpse of it, and Atsumu turns around in a way that doesn’t show anything more. It might’ve been a shadow, a trick of the light, or nothing in particular, but the image plants itself firmly in Kiyoomi’s head and makes his insides squirm with an ugly, sticky feeling.

He tries to shake it off. Really, it’s probably nothing—and even if it is something, who is Kiyoomi to judge? What right does he have to feel jealous when there’s not a single obligation between them, when Kiyoomi himself has slept with someone else?

It makes him wonder whether Atsumu noticed anything the day after he fucked Wakatoshi. Would he also have felt jealous? Somewhere in his mind, idly, he thinks that he wants Atsumu to be jealous.

He shakes off the thoughts once again. He needs to focus on practice.

His first spike of the day goes embarrassingly far out of bounds. His first serve does too. Atsumu laughs at him.

“Aw, having an off day, Omi-omi?” he coos.

Kiyoomi only replies with a glare.

He’s gets himself somewhat together for the rest of practice but his teammates still notice him being off—more faults, less precision, and Kiyoomi starts to get irritated less by his own feelings but more so by everyone fussing over him, Meian asking him multiple times whether he’s alright, while Hinata tries to encourage him with a “It’s okay Omi-san, we all have our off days!”

He’s beyond pent up by the end of the day, putting on his clothes in an angry rush, though naturally, his eyes wander.

Atsumu is talking to Adriah and raises a leg onto the bench to pull up his socks, and that’s when Kiyoomi sees it yet again—a round bruise on his inner thigh, standing out like a rotting tree in the middle of a meadow.

That’s it, Kiyoomi decides. He waits for Atsumu to almost finish getting dressed before approaching him.

“Miya.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s walk together.”

It’s only then that Atsumu turns to him with surprise in his eyes—granted, Kiyoomi has never been this direct about it before, especially while they’re still in the locker room with their teammates around. The phrase is not telling in and of itself, but the intent is clear.

“Heh, sure thing, Omi-omi~”

Atsumu grins at him with the same attractive boyish mischief as usual, but yet again the thought that he might send that kind of look towards anyone else chokes Kiyoomi’s airways like liquid tar.

Kiyoomi sets a quick pace as they head back to his apartment with Atsumu trying to make idle conversation, but he doesn’t respond much at all—he only has one thing on his mind.

He barely waits for the elevator door to close before pushing Atsumu into the wall and putting all his frustrations into a bruising kiss. Atsumu whines into his mouth and responds in kind.

“Fuck, are ya really having a rough day—” he laughs into his mouth, but Kiyoomi has no patience for that now. He grabs Atsumu’s jaw tightly.

“Shut up,“ he growls, then bites down harshly on Atsumu’s lip for good measure. The elevator doors open and before Atsumu has a chance to respond, and Kiyoomi drags him into his apartment by his hand. Atsumu pushes him into the door this time, biting back in revenge and pulling at his hair. Kiyoomi takes his neck in one hand while grabbing his waist with the other, pressing them as close together as physically possible. He’s vindictive in his kisses and Atsumu responds to him beautifully, moaning into his mouth and already humping a half-hard cock into his side.

He gives no warning when he grabs Atsumu’s ass and lifts him up, though Atsumu wraps his arms and legs around him just as quickly.

“Fuck,” he moans into Kiyoomi’s temple when he starts carrying Atsumu back towards his room with ease and moans even louder when Kiyoomi digs his teeth into the exposed skin of his neck, sucking at the junction of his shoulder—a sensitive spot, and visible to boot.

Atsumu squeaks a little once he throws him on the bed, both of them quickly discarding their shirts before Kiyoomi climbs on top of Atsumu. Their tongues find each other again, Atsumu’s hands reaching up into his hair—but Kiyoomi takes them and pushes them down above their heads. Atsumu whines in protest even as their lips are still locked, pushes upwards, but Kiyoomi holds him down even more firmly, grinding their clothed erections together with burning drag until Atsumu gives in—his hands relax and Kiyoomi is able to suck on his tongue and draw out even more whimpers out of him.

He intertwines one of his hands with both of Atsumu’s, while the other travels down his torso, digging his blunt fingertips into Atsumu’s sides and making him squirm in place. He lowers his mouth too, leaves a trail of light sucks and kisses down to his shoulder, before then biting down and pinching one of his nipples at the same time. Atsumu moans and arches his back into both kinds of touch, hands squeezing tightly around Kiyoomi’s fingers.

“Fuck, please—“

“Begging already, Miya?” Kiyoomi taunts him, which earns him a halfhearted glare, though Atsumu’s eyes roll back with a moan soon enough when Kiyoomi roughly palms his crotch through his pants.

“Look at you, you’re so hard already,” he groans out. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more satisfied at reducing Atsumu to his barest form, whimpering and keening under his touch. Confidence claims him and he continues, meanly, “You’re such a slut, aren't you, Atsumu?”

Atsumu whines, be it from another brush against his cock, or the insults Kiyoomi threw at him. “Fuck,” he swears again as he humps up into Kiyoomi’s hand with closed eyes. “Shit, yes, I’m—I’m a slut, just for you—” he babbles and Kiyoomi interrupts him by sucking on his nipple harshly.

 _Liar_ , Kiyoomi thinks, continuing to bite down with punishing vengeance. _Liar_ , he reluctantly removes his other hand from Atsumu’s and uses it to open up Atsumu’s pants, pulling them down along with his underwear. _Liar_ , he wants to inscribe in the supple flesh of his thigh, but he settles for kneeling and biting down on it as harshly as he can. Atsumu keens, legs reflexively closing, but Kiyoomi pries them open again, so instead Atsumu grabs a fistful of his hair as he still moans and whines above him.

Kiyoomi’s not sure if Atsumu wants to push him closer or away but he moves on regardless, continuing his ministrations, rising up higher and higher on his thighs, leaving hickey after hickey until he’s facing Atsumu’s aching cock, precome already pooling at the tip. Kiyoomi runs his tongue up its length once, but just that already has Atsumu sobbing out his name high in his throat.

“Fuck, Omi-kun, are you s—” He doesn’t finish as Kiyoomi wraps his lips around Atsumu’s tip, running his tongue down the side and making Atsumu cry out once more. It’s not Kiyoomi’s favourite activity usually, sensitive to tastes and textures as he is, but all of that is being overridden by his desire to make Atsumu come undone below him no matter what.

He wastes no time in bobbing his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks and running his tongue down the side in the way Atsumu usually likes to do to him. Atsumu humps into his mouth and Kiyoomi deliberately pushes his hips down, digging his fingers into the junction of his thigh and the bruises he left earlier. The hand in Kiyoomi’s hair opens and closes sporadically, and Kiyoomi delights in the broken little whines that fall from Atsumu’s lips, head thrown back and breath hitching more and more often. He doesn’t even realize how closely Kiyoomi is watching him.

He recognizes the sounds of Atsumu coming closer to the edge, familiar with the increasing cadence of his moans, and he pulls off in a quick movement that leaves Atsumu thrusting into thin air.

“F-fuck, Omi, _please_ —” he begs oh-so-prettily, but Kiyoomi removes himself fully, and watches with possessive glee how Atsumu continues to cry out for him.

“C’mon, fuck me—”

“Fine, if you want it so badly,” Kiyoomi responds and turns Atsumu over with one swift push of his palm, making him groan once his rock-hard cock grinds against the sheets, though he immediately gets up on his knees and presents his firm ass obediently.

Kiyoomi gets up for a second to grab lube and a condom from his bedside table and Atsumu starts whining once again.

“ _Omi_ , fuck me already—”

“Maybe I won’t if you keep being such a brat.”

“Or what, you’re gonna spank me or something?”

Kiyoomi promptly does, which makes Atsumu cry out and sink his head into the pillow with a muffled swear.

“What was that?”

“Please,” Atsumu cries. “Please, please, _please_ — _Ah_ —“

Kiyoomi sinks two wet fingers into Atsumu’s hole at once, and makes fairly quick work of preparing him, before pushing his cock into him right away. They both moan at the pleasure, but Kiyoomi wastes no time in pushing Atsumu down by the the base of his throat and fucking into him with ruthless thrusts that draw out the most broken whines out of Atsumu.

He feels a petty sense of pride, knowing that he can reduce Atsumu to this, a wanton mess of a man who clenches around his cock and moans Kiyoomi’s name and Kiyoomi’s name alone.

Suddenly, he feels the need to see Atsumu, to hold him even closer—he pulls out quickly, and even as Atsumu groans in protest, Kiyoomi pushes him on his back, their gazes meeting each other.

It’s as if time stops. Their frantic movements come to a halt, and in the moment of quiet, Kiyoomi can hear their panting breaths intermingling as they look at each other—Atsumu’s golden brown eyes widened with lust and trailing over his lips in quiet expectation.

Kiyoomi cradles Atsumu’s face with a careful hand and slowly leans down for a close-mouthed but firm kiss. A quiet sigh leaves him when Atsumu responds just as deeply, holding onto Kiyoomi’s neck like a lifeline, their mouths coming apart and together again and again with a quiet fervor.

“This is nice an’ all, but...” Atsumu interrupts their sweet kiss after a while, and humps his still aching cock into Kiyoomi’s hips.

“Always so demanding,” Kiyoomi murmurs without any bite, and his gaze flicks down to their intertwined legs—even in the dim lighting he can see the bruises he left on Atsumu’s thighs, and he also sees the one that he didn’t. The same sense of jealousy burns his heart like charcoal and he takes Atsumu’s thighs in a vice-grip and slides back into him in one quick, merciless motion.

“Fuck, Atsumu—” He groans deeply in response to Atsumu’s beautiful reactions, even more so when Atsumu untangles one of his hands to pull Kiyoomi down into a searing kiss, moans reverberating into Kiyoomi’s very core as he increases his pace as much as he can. Atsumu tries to pull his hair with uncoordinated motions, and Kiyoomi pulls his arms above his head once again, intertwining their hands in the process.

He still holds onto Atsumu’s hands as he comes with Kiyoomi’s name on his lips, Kiyoomi’s own orgasm following soon after. He collapses on top of him, ignoring the stickiness of Atsumu’s cum and sweaty hair brushing against his skin just to let the endorphins wash over him in full.

A slight sense of shame soon follows. Guilt joins it from the selfish way he took Atsumu when he has no right to—and even more guilt follows when he recognizes that a part of him _still_ feels a sense of ugly possessiveness, of _righteousness_ at having—what? _Claimed_ Atsumu? He knows that they don’t have any commitments to each other, knows that Atsumu isn’t his, but he still wants—

“Hey,” Atsumu suddenly mumbles out. “You okay?”

Kiyoomi pushes all of that aside, raises his head and slowly nods. “Are you?”

Atsumu wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck warmly. “Are you kidding me? I’m _fantastic,”_ he says with a bright grin as he combs through the hairs at the base of Kiyoomi’s neck. “Something really must’ve gotten to you today, huh?

He looks away. “I was just… frustrated.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Atsumu chuckles. “But you know, you can be frustrated more often if it makes you act like _that_.”

“...You sure about that?”

“Yep! In fact, I’m gonna start annoying you on purpose so you become _very_ frustrated with me.”

“Ah, so you’ve only been annoying me on accident so far.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Atsumu whines out childishly, but they both smile when he pulls Kiyoomi down into a slow kiss, tongues just moving over each other’s lips with comfortable laziness.

The sticky feelings on his body do eventually get to Kiyoomi though, and he pulls away with slight reluctance.

“We really need to shower though.”

Atsumu sighs, “Yessir—“ and promptly stumbles into Kiyoomi’s side as he tries to get off the bed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, my legs are just a lil’ wobbly, it’s fine—“

“Okay,” Kiyoomi replies, and proceeds to put one of his hands on Atsumu’s lower back, the other under his knees.

“Woah, what d’you think you’re doing?”

“Carrying you, obviously.”

“I told you, I’m _fine—_ Eep!” He squeaks and wraps his hands around Kiyoomi’s neck instinctively once he’s pulled up, with perhaps slightly more effort than Kiyoomi hoped to.

“Stop twitching, you’re not _that_ light.”

“What, are your arms so weak that you can’t carry little ol’ me?

“You’re a professional athlete, Miya, there’s nothing little about you.”

“No, y’see—Oh my god,” Atsumu suddenly gasps out. “Hey, what’s with ‘Miya’ suddenly!? You called me Atsumu before! Like, more than once!”

“What? No, I didn’t,” Kiyoomi replies and immediately thinks _fuck_ , because he remembers that he did. He’s never done that before.

“You did, and you know it!” Atsumu taps a finger into his chest, and Kiyoomi deliberately looks off to the side, ignoring the flush rising on his cheeks. Atsumu can’t be right if Kiyoomi neither confirms nor denies anything.

“Hey, Kiyoomi?”

His heart skips a beat. He carefully looks back at the man in his arms.

“What?”

Atsumu just grins at him, silly and wide, and then giggles. “Kiyooooomi. _Kiyoomi_. Kiyoomi~”

“You’re ridiculous.” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes even as he feels the heat starting to gather in his ears.

“Hey, Kiyoomi.”

He looks down again, and Atsumu leans up to give him a short, sweet peck on the lips. He can’t help his smile as he returns Atsumu’s adoring gaze, though the heavy feeling in his chest tells him he doesn’t deserve it.

* * *

Kiyoomi wakes up one day feeling exhausted already, even if his mind doesn’t let him fall back asleep because it’s his usual waking time. He just barely resists the urge to stay in bed and gets up to go about his morning routine, though that too feels more like an obligation on this particular morning. His moisturizer is empty enough to squirt out a dollop with a skin-crawling sound, and he finds that one of his favourite bowls got a chip in the dishwasher.

He sees a message from Motoya come in on his phone and decides to ignore it immediately. It’s nothing personal but right now he just… can’t. His cousin is used to it by now.

He goes on a run that makes him feel marginally better, but as he comes back he sees more notifications from the group chat he has with some of his teammates—Hinata sent another meme and Bokuto is keysmashing his laughter in the replies. He ignores that too.

It’s alright, all-in-all. He doesn’t have practice today at least, and it’s probably just been a while since he last spent a day just by himself.

(The last couple of days off he’d spent with Atsumu. Once they checked out a new café Atsumu wanted to go to and then they ended up shopping for the rest of the day. Once they just lazed around at Atsumu’s apartment, watching some TV series and cuddling without doing anything more. Another time—)

He spends the rest of the day in his apartment, cleaning, reading, scrolling aimlessly through social media, feeling not his best, but he’s learned that that’s alright, every once in a while. Certain things he simply cannot control, and this is just one of them. He stays that way until the early evening when his phone lights up with something he wasn’t expecting.

**Miya Atsumu**

>hey omi-kun  
>wanna come over?

Kiyoomi sees the notification and feels surprised more than anything—for as long as they’ve known each other, Atsumu has had a knack for understanding when Kiyoomi really wants to be left alone, so he rarely interacts with him on his worse days.

>we don’t have to do anything I just don’t really wanna be alone yk?

Guilt washes over him next, because he knows he won’t reply.

>omi-kun?  
>omi-kuuuuuuun  
>I saw u online earlier

He could reply, maybe. He could ask Atsumu what’s going on and head over to his place and talk to him and support him because that’s what a friend should do. They _are_ friends, good friends—maybe even a little more than that. He should do those things, probably.

>actually forget about it it’s nothing serious anyway  
>lol

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, puts his phone away and heads to bed with a nauseating weight in his chest.

He still has the aftertaste of guilt in his mouth the next morning, but he feels better, breathes a little easier, and as soon as he’s done with his morning routine he texts back.

<Sorry, I didn’t see this last night  
<Are you alright?  
<Should I come over today?

He saw earlier that Atsumu posted a picture late last night of Osamu and a few takeout boxes from Onigiri Miya, with the caption an uncharacteristic “ _Maybe he’s okay sometimes <3_”. Kiyoomi had heard that Osamu is busy with the newest branch opening in Tokyo, and he must have come by pretty spontaneously at that.

>Oh yeah i’m fine dw!!!!!  
>But you can come if you want to samu’s just about to leave too

Kiyoomi makes haste and walks to Atsumu’s as soon as he can, and as he approaches the apartment complex he sees Osamu just about to get into his car when he spots Kiyoomi too. He gives Osamu a curt nod as a greeting, but the other unexpectedly steps up to him and suddenly grabs him by the collar with a glare that would definitely kill him if it could.

“You little—”

His eyes glower with cold fury, fists clenched tightly in Kiyoomi’s shirt and his whole body shaking with rage, jaw clenched tightly around a snarl—but before Kiyoomi can even attempt to ask anything, he’s pushed back again with a scoff.

“Forget it,” Osamu spits out, still pure unadulterated ire in his voice. “You’re lucky Tsumu likes you so much.”

He then promptly walks back to his car and slams the door closed, leaving Kiyoomi perplexed and ashamed more than anything else.

Maybe he should turn back and not meet Atsumu—clearly Osamu doesn’t like him, and Kiyoomi has always thought he’s the more reasonable of the two. He must not want him around Atsumu for good reason.

But then he looks back up to where he knows Atsumu’s window is, and he cannot resist the selfish pull inside him—so he presses the familiar button with Atsumu’s name on it and gets buzzed in only seconds later.

“Omi-kun, hey!” Atsumu greets him a wide smile as if nothing is wrong.

“Hey,” he nods in greeting. “... I met Osamu outside.”

“Oh yeah, he left just before, did you guys talk?”

Kiyoomi hums vaguely. “He seemed pretty angry at me.”

“What? Oh,” Atsumu‘s voice drops before it rises again with suspicious ease. “Yeah, yeah, he’s probably just pissy because he came over late, don’t worry about it.” He turns away as he says it and Kiyoomi knows that that’s absolutely not what Osamu’s words sounded like, but he quietly follows Atsumu inside.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead.

“Me? Never been better!” Atsumu turns around and steps closer to Kiyoomi, looking up at him curiously.

“And you?”

“...I’m fine.”

He chuckles with painfully kind eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Kiyoomi also takes a step forward and puts his hands on Atsumu’s waist. “You are too.”

“Guess we fit together then,” Atsumu replies and wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck to pull him down into a kiss. He readily reciprocates and a few minutes later ends up bent over Atsumu’s couch moaning around a cock in his ass. Somewhere in between he wants to say many things: that they should talk things out, that he’s sorry, that he wishes Atsumu could rely on him, that Atsumu _can_ rely on him, and even more incriminating things that he doesn’t dare put into words. Instead he moans curses and Atsumu’s name, and doesn’t say anything else. Atsumu doesn’t say anything either.

* * *

Clubs are not his usual scene whatsoever, but for once Kiyoomi promised to join this particular outing with the team—even he feels a certain need to celebrate the ending of the competitive season, doubly so with the Jackals having placed at their highest in the last decade.

That being said, he still dislikes the large crowds, the noise, the unidentifiable stickiness on every surface, and he especially dislikes Atsumu whining and pulling at him to join everyone else on the dancefloor.

“Miya, for the last time, I’m _not_ dancing.”

Atsumu stops tugging on his arm but he still leans over the booth, smirking down at Kiyoomi. “C’mon, what are you so scared of?”

“I’m not scared, it’s just embarrassing.”

“So? Remember the fanmeet where we danced in—”

“ _That_ was also embarrassing, and against my will.”

“But you did that and you’re perfectly fine, so what’s the problem?”

As much as Kiyoomi thinks that he and Atsumu have some sort of understanding, some sort of rapport, he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand his utter shamelessness: it’s not even that Atsumu doesn’t care about the opinions of others, because he does, but somehow he is still be able to follow his own whims first and foremost.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Kiyoomi deflects as he takes another sip from his drink.

“I want you to have fun because I’m—I’m your _friend_ , duh!” Atsumu exclaims in mock-anger, a hand slamming down on the table and wide eyes betraying a flustered edge.

Kiyoomi looks off to the side, quiet. They both know they’re not just friends at this point.

“Y’know Omi-kun,” Atsumu’s tone is suddenly light, joking almost. “You’re kind of a coward.”

The accusation is still palpable.

That’s the thing, really: Kiyoomi always finishes what he starts, always knows the extent of his abilities, always pours his everything into the task at hand—but that also means that he doesn’t start anything if he doesn’t believe that he can do it, no matter how much he _wants_ to.

He knows he’s not the easiest person to be around: he’s blunt and stubborn and uncompromising in many ways; he often does not understand the things that most people are worried about, and he has needs and moods that not everyone wants or is able to accomodate. He doesn’t blame anyone for not wanting to associate with him because he also doesn’t associate with people he doesn’t like—he’s long accepted that there are things he can’t change, and other people’s feelings are part of that.

But it’s different with Atsumu.

He wants Atsumu. Worse than that, he wants Atsumu to want him back. He wants Atsumu to put up with him, to wait for him and come back to him whenever Kiyoomi pushes him away, but he also knows that he could never handle it if one day Atsumu decided that Kiyoomi is just not worth his time anymore.

He isn’t, really. Atsumu would have every right to leave him, but Kiyoomi doesn’t want to see him go more than he wants to have him.

“I am. I’m sorry.”

He can feel Atsumu’s stare boring into him.

“What do you want me to do about it?” His voice is just barely audible over the bass of the club music, though Kiyoomi still hears its agitation loud and clear.

He thinks that Atsumu knows, to some extent. They both know that there’s something there, something more in the lingering touches after they’re done, in the quiet looks and quieter kisses in pale moonlight that they share in wordless understanding.

Still, Kiyoomi isn’t ready.

“Nothing. I know that it’s my problem, and I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Kiyoomi, you—” Desperation, such an odd, unfitting look for Atsumu’s usual confident self—it quickly turns to anger, more familiar though still striking in its resignation. “Fine,” he throws up his hands. “Have it your way.”

He turns on his heels, and disappears back into the dancing crowd. They’ve made it clear, really: Atsumu knows that Kiyoomi isn’t ready—and Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu never waits for anyone.

Kiyoomi goes home alone that night.

* * *

The off-season means that players don’t have practice for the foreseeable future and that they are free to visit their family and friends as much as they like.

Kiyoomi hasn’t talked to Atsumu in weeks.

He’s seen him on social media: visiting Hyogo, posting pictures of old friends and family, a trip to some onsen, a livestream over his phone. Maybe it’s a little weird that Kiyoomi keeps checking his account multiple times a day, but they haven’t even texted each other, so really, what else is he supposed to do?

He’s getting ready for bed on another night spent alone in his apartment when there’s a ring on his door—not even from the complex entrance, but from his own apartment. He doesn’t expect to see Atsumu on the other side of the peephole.

“Miya, what—“

As soon as he opens the door he finds himself in Atsumu’s arms, his face in Atsumu’s hands, his lips surrounded by Atsumu’s wholly—a broken sound leaves him and Atsumu’s tight grip borders on painful but all Kiyoomi can think is _finally_ at having Atsumu’s body on his at all. They kiss with a frantic fury, equal parts anger and frustration and desperation, and Kiyoomi pushes back all questions as to why Atsumu is here in the first place, how he got in, why _now,_ because he knows that’s the best he can expect—they don’t have any answers for each other, but at least they have _this_.

Atsumu doesn’t stop biting and sucking at his lips with increasing force as he blindly pushes Kiyoomi into his bedroom and onto his sheets. They only separate once Atsumu presses himself upwards and grinds his ass onto Kiyoomi’s half-hard cock, making him moan out loud in response.

“Let me have you,” Atsumu suddenly breathes in the heated space between them.

Their eyes meet and for the first time Atsumu looks like he’s hesitating—waiting, uncertain, though equally desperate. Kiyoomi would know, because he feels it mirror his own state of mind.

Of course Kiyoomi lets him—he’s already Atsumu’s, mind, body and soul, even if the setter doesn’t know it.

Atsumu makes quick work of undressing him in between even more aggressive kisses, and then he starts fingering himself on top of Kiyoomi with obscene moans that make Kiyoomi grip his waist with bruising strength. The moment he sits down on Kiyoomi’s cock he almost comes then and there, that’s how much he’s missed Atsumu’s tight heat—and Atsumu seems similarly compromised when he hisses and pants even without moving, nails pressing red indents into Kiyoomi’s chest.

Though it doesn’t take much time before Atsumu starts rocking his hips, bouncing up and down on Kiyoomi’s cock like his life depends on it and moaning accordingly.

“F-fuck, Omi, fuck—” His voice breaks on a particularly deep thrust to the point that Kiyoomi barely hears the words over his own pounding heart, but he can still clearly see the beautiful flush on his face.

“Fuck, I love—” Suddenly Atsumu bites into his hand as he moans, eyes wide, and before Kiyoomi can ask what he just said, he hisses from Atsumu pinching his nipple with his other hand.

“Fuck me,” Atsumu pants out with determined desperation, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Something like bile rises up in his throat, a sense of alarm, a sense of _offness_ that demands he stop everything here and now and ask Atsumu what’s wrong—but Kiyoomi has never been able to refuse Atsumu either, so he grabs his waist more tightly and starts fucking into him from below with renewed vigour. They come together with Atsumu collapsing in Kiyoomi’s arms and turning his back to him not a minute later.

Despite the heat of their bodies, Kiyoomi’s insides feel cold.

* * *

“Do you think playing abroad is a good idea?” Atsumu asks him next morning over an otherwise suspiciously quiet breakfast.

Kiyoomi takes a moment to gather himself and put down his chopsticks before he replies, “Shouldn’t you ask Hinata or Kageyama instead, since they’re actually overseas?”

“I wanna hear from you ‘cause you _didn’t_ go. You probably already got a bunch of offers too, right? So what keeps you here?”

 _You_ , is the first answer that comes to his mind, painful and obvious and true, but it’s also something that Kiyoomi absolutely shouldn’t say when Atsumu is clearly just seeking his advice as a friend and colleague.

Instead he says, “I like our team. We have very good players that allow me to play at my full potential and the offers I’ve received either didn’t match the pay and benefits, or I didn’t think that it’s worth switching to a worse team.”

Atsumu nods with watchful eyes, and replies, “And you hate change.”

“...I guess that’s also a factor.”

He smiles a more subdued version of his usual teasing grin, a wordless apology that Kiyoomi accepts because he can’t blame Atsumu for simply stating the truth.

His teammate then averts his gaze down to his food. “...I got an offer from France. A team in Nice.”

His smile slips slightly, and there’s something like guilt in his eyes.

Kiyoomi has often felt his heart being painfully squeezed when it came to Atsumu—now it feels fragile, shattering like glass from a precise hit right at its weakest spot.

“You’re taking it.” It’s not a question.

Atsumu hums an affirmative. “The pay is pretty dang good. I also looked at the team and they have a good chance to get to Worlds. It’s by the sea, too.”

Kiyoomi takes a sip of his coffee. France, huh. It really does suit Atsumu. “No reason to refuse then. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“...Yeah, I guess I will,” Atsumu sighs somewhat ruefully. “I’m gonna miss you guys though.”

“That’s inevitable, but you’re also sure to meet other people you like.” He says the words without any deeper meaning, but as soon as he does he realizes _oh_. It’s true, Atsumu might very well meet people he likes—people he loves. People that would make him want to stay.

“Yeah, and I think I wanna come back sooner or later anyway,” Atsumu shrugs. “Then again, you never know, that Oikawa guy changed nationalities too...” He takes another bite of his breakfast, thoroughly ignorant to the rock the words put into Kiyoomi’s throat.

He takes another large sip, two even, before he manages to clear his mind of unnecessary thoughts. Atsumu wants his advice, not his feelings.

“... Either way, you should do the things you think will make you happiest. That way you won’t have regrets regardless of where you end up.”

“And if the thing that would make me happiest is out of my control?” Atsumu suddenly asks and levels Kiyoomi with a piercing look—it’s one of the few times when Kiyoomi remembers that more than anyone else he knows, Atsumu is a monster at heart. His eyes feel like icicles stabbing into Kiyoomi’s very soul.

“...Then you ignore those and focus on the things that you can control, obviously. There’s no reason to regret things you had no say over.”

Atsumu’s shoulders loosen and he smiles idly, but his eyes soften in a way that Kiyoomi doesn’t like. A shade too disappointed. Too sad.

“I guess you’re right. Thanks, Omi-kun.”

Like with last night, he feels like he missed something—something important—but Atsumu continues to talk idly about his new team and leaves soon afterwards.

Two days later, Atsumu texts him that he signed the contract. Kiyoomi replies with a simple “Congratulations.”

Atsumu doesn’t mention whether he feels like celebrating at all.

* * *

A few weeks later, they all receive an email with an announcement of the new team lineups for next season. The email includes the list of new players, goodbyes to the ones leaving the team, and an invitation to a farewell party, as is tradition every year. It’s set in about two months, two days before Atsumu’s flight.

(One day before Atsumu will actually leave, as he told Kiyoomi, since he’ll take the train to Narita in the afternoon and spend the night there to catch his 7am flight.)

Kiyoomi is not someone who thinks much about inevitabilities like the passage of time, but two months have never felt so short before. He still sees Atsumu every few days, but every single one that he doesn’t feels like a waste, because those two months become one month, which becomes two weeks, which becomes him looking at the date on his phone and every single time his first thought is the number of days he has left with Atsumu.

Atsumu himself barely even acts like he cares—the only thing that’s really changed about his behaviour is his sudden drive to visit every single tourist attraction in Japan within a day-trip radius.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be here for a while, I gotta experience all the stuff that I haven’t done yet!”

It’s a lot of arbitrary things like shrine visits and amusement parks and hikes on mountains that Atsumu claims to hate but he still continues dragging all his friends along with him, Kiyoomi seemingly most of all. He agrees just about whenever he can, excluding the times when Osamu would also be there.

(“C’mon, please? I always wanted to bungee jump, and I can make Samu promise to behave!”

“I… am scared of heights, actually.”

“You’re still a bad liar, Omi-kun,” Atsumu sighs with a smile and drops the topic.)

Usually a few of their teammates join, often some of Atsumu’s friends or other people from their volleyball circuit do too, but about half the time it’s just the two of them—mostly when Atsumu wants to explore cities he’s never been to, or when he reads about interesting places he really wants to check out.

(“Well, this seems familiar,” Atsumu drawls as the servers put on the blindfold for their blind dining experience. Kiyoomi can’t see him but he kicks him under the table and smiles at the satisfying wince.)

(“Aw, you two are such a cute couple, your yukatas even match!” The woman from the festival stall says with one look at them—Atsumu’s happens to be gold with black accents, while Kiyoomi’s is the opposite. Before Kiyoomi can correct her, Atsumu intertwines their hands and laughs, “I know right, we didn’t even plan it!”

“Oh, that’s the sign of true soulmates, mark my words!”

“Yes, ma’am! Ah, anyways, can we get two of the taiyaki?”

“Of course, dear—here, I’ll even make it half-price for you two!”

“Aw, you’re too kind!”

Atsumu doesn’t let go of his hand even as they leave, and they don’t talk about it.)

(“I bet you’d love for everyone to see you like this,” Atsumu whispers filthily in his ear, still driving into him with maddening heat that contrasts with the cold window. “If the light was turned on, every single one of them could see what a pretty little slut you are for me.”

Kiyoomi moans with his cheek pressed against the glass, watching people walk past the lit rooms in this hotel complex and in the back of his mind he fears that maybe they could see him if their eyes lingered on their window just a little longer—but then Atsumu bites his neck and all thoughts surrender to delirious pleasure.)

It’s fun, all-in-all, even with the looming dread that settles deeper and deeper into Kiyoomi’s heart—before he knows it, the day of the combined farewell-and-welcome party arrives. It’s a standard affair, though unlike the last couple of years it’s Atsumu in the limelight, saying goodbye to all the familiar teammates and giving drunken, but nonetheless useful advice to their newest setter recruitment.

“See Omi-kun, he—” Atsumu burps which should have absolutely disgusted Kiyoomi, but instead it only endears him, “He likes his sets real basic, just high and further from the net and then he can do the rest with his gross ass wrists—”

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to compliment me or not,” Kiyoomi interrupts with a familiar quip.

“Shh, you know I love your hands, baby,” Atsumu coos sleazily and Kiyoomi rolls his eyes to distract from the heat crawling up his neck.

“Oh yeah, and when he does that he really just feels all shy,” Atsumu fake-whispers. “He actually really loves praise and—”

“Please don’t traumatize the new kid.” Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu away from the poor teenager who only gives them a bewildered polite nod.

Atsumu blinks at him mockingly, “What, did I say anything wrong?”

Kiyoomi fixes him with a deep look. “There’s a time and place for everything.”

“Like, say,” Atsumu trails his hands lightly over Kiyoomi’s chest, “my place?”

“I think mine would be closer, actually.”

Atsumu grins up at him but this time it’s without any pretense—this smile can only be described as the purest form of Atsumu’s joy. Kiyoomi’s heart skips a beat.

He still says his last goodbyes and accepts all farewell hugs and best wishes, dragging Kiyoomi along with the claim that he’s too drunk to walk home on his own—even though the moment they step into the fresh air outside Atsumu loses all his theatrics and can only muster up a nostalgic smile.

“I’m really gonna miss everyone,” he sighs as he clings onto Kiyoomi’s arm.

“You can always call them.”

“Well not _always_. The time difference is gonna suck and we’re all gonna be busy soon. It’s not the same.”

“...True.”

The rest of their walk is quiet, and Atsumu only lets go of his arm once Kiyoomi needs it to fish the keys out of his pocket. The elevator ride is equally quiet, and they give each other small, subdued smiles when their eyes meet.

Behind closed doors they take off their shoes and jackets without any fanfare before Atsumu suddenly wraps his arms around Kiyoomi from behind and starts trailing butterfly kisses up his nape—it’s barely even a touch, but it nurtures such a familiar ache that he has to turn around and kiss Atsumu then and there.

Kiyoomi starts out fast and with a desperate haste, but soon enough Atsumu eases him into something soft and tender, lips pliable and tongues sliding over each other, soft sighs holding a familiar warmth. His hands rise to cradle Atsumu’s neck, mostly just for the sake of touch itself rather than to direct him in any way. They know each other’s bodies inside out by now.

It becomes a delicate balance between their desire to draw this out for as long as they can, the press of their lips slow and careful, and their impatient, wanting energy trying to find release as they grip at each other’s clothes with familiar eagerness.

“What do you want?” Kiyoomi asks, a hand still on Atsumu’s cheek.

“Just you,” Atsumu whispers, and kisses him again.

Kiyoomi had thought often about how this night would go, whether it’d be the culmination of their hottest, wildest fantasies, whether it’d be slow and sweet and drawn-out, whether they’d cry, whether Kiyoomi could finally muster the courage to say the words etched deeply in his heart—

In the end, it’s a fairly average night for them. Atsumu sucks him off and then holds his hand as he fucks him through a second orgasm. They shower separately and Kiyoomi hands him his best towel and changes the sheets to the purple silk that Atsumu once mentioned was his favourite.

They lie down with Atsumu’s head tucked beneath his chin, limbs thrown around each other under the warm comforter.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Atsumu mumbles, sleep already in his voice.

Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu’s body closer, all but pressing him into the crook of his neck. Mostly he just can’t bear to look Atsumu in the eyes.

“Me too,” he says with a peck to the top of Atsumu’s head.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he does get rudely woken up by what he instantly recognizes is Atsumu’s obnoxious iPhone alarm. Atsumu himself is still securely wrapped around him and only scoots closer as he whines in displeasure.

“Omiii, turn it off…”

Kiyoomi huffs out a laugh and reaches out one arm to silence Atsumu’s phone on his night table, his heart blooming ever warmer when Atsumu nestles into his chest in sleepy comfort once again. Kiyoomi cradles a careful hand through his locks. He can see the roots starting to grow out.

“You should get up soon,” he says gently. “You still need to finish packing.”

Atsumu whines pettily once again and nuzzles into his chest. God, this man will be the death of him.

“Come on,” he says with a kiss on Atsumu’s forehead. “I’ll make you pancakes.”

Atsumu blinks up at him blearily, reminding Kiyoomi of pictures of sleepy angry kittens Motoya sends him sometimes.

“With strawberries an’ syrup an’ whipped cream?” he asks groggily.

“I don’t have syrup, but I can add honey.”

Atsumu huffs, “Hmpf. Okay, I _guess,_ ” and promptly leans up to press a kiss to his lips before clambering off his bed without falling off completely. Kiyoomi watches him with equal amounts of amusement and adoration, and then chides himself for the latter as he gets up and starts preparing those pancakes.

He makes them just the way Atsumu likes, with extra cinnamon and fluffing up the egg whites separately before adding them into the batter. It’s absolutely a child’s taste, but like with many things related to Atsumu, Kiyoomi has grown to feel nothing but fondness for it.

Atsumu waddles out of the bathroom as he’s flipping the first pancake over and it’s still too light to really be presentable.

“You suck at this,“ Atsumu comments as he wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s naked torso. “They’re not even round.”

“You do it better then,” Kiyoomi replies, giving Atsumu’s hand a light pat before extracting himself to wash up too.

By the time he comes out Atsumu has already cut up the strawberries in thin, even slices, and there’s two growing stacks of pancakes, each a little circular cushion with the perfect golden brown colour that matches Atsumu’s eyes. Much like in volleyball, Kiyoomi has always admired the precision of Atsumu’s hands in the kitchen.

They seamlessly work in tandem to plate everything, Kiyoomi preparing their coffee (half milk, one teaspoon of sugar for Atsumu), the other more than familiar with the intricacies of Kiyoomi’s kitchen, and they have a lively, lovely breakfast, talking about anything and everything with banter that would feel normal if it wasn't for the sad tinge to both of their smiles.

Eventually Atsumu looks at the clock hanging on Kiyoomi’s wall and scrapes his chair lightly. “I guess, I should, uh. Get ready, kinda.”

“Of course, I'll clean this up,” Kiyoomi tells him and Atsumu hesitates just for a second before going back to the bedroom.

Kiyoomi remains in the kitchen long after he’s put away all the dishes and bowls he used. He hates this. He really hates this. He knows it’s inevitable, that it’s not something he can change, so he shouldn’t have regrets—but that’s a lie, isn’t it?

Maybe, if he had said something, _anything_ , things would have turned out differently. Maybe if he’d followed his own advice and followed his heart’s call to happiness regardless of the risks, he wouldn’t be paying a much heavier price right now.

He’s not sure if it’d be more selfish of him to confess now as opposed to keeping it hidden for the sake of his cowardice, but in systems with equal and opposite forces, inertia always wins out.

Atsumu comes out of his room dressed in his clothes from the night before but now smelling faintly of Kiyoomi’s fluoride toothpaste.

“Well… I guess this is it.” He shuffles his feet in front of Kiyoomi’s front door.

“I... guess it is.”

Their eyes meet and immediately they find their arms locked around each other, shoulders tightly pressed together.

He thinks Atsumu understands. He even slowly thinks that Atsumu might have a semblance of the same feelings branding Kiyoomi’s very soul. At the very least he knows there’s deep mutual care, a thorough appreciation of each other with the taste of nostalgia for something that hasn’t even passed yet.

“Atsumu—I… I’ll miss you.” It’s not the words Kiyoomi truly means, but anything else will just hurt both of them even more.

He feels Atsumu shake, breaking out something between a sob and laugh and he leans back, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

“Oh, Kiyoomi—” He makes that same broken sound again and shakes his head, smiling up at him with a touching genuineness. He then tilts his head up and gives him a short kiss on the cheek, chaste and utterly devastating.

Atsumu squeezes his arm once. “Take care of yourself, will ya?”

Kiyoomi nods, throat heavy. “Of course. You do too.”

“I only learned from the best.” Atsumu winks and steps away completely to put on his shoes and expensive brown suede jacket. He looks handsome as always. He’ll truly fit right in on the other side of the world.

“Text me when you arrive,” Kiyoomi tells him as Atsumu opens the door to leave for good.

“Sure thing! Just ‘cause I’ll be on another continent doesn’t mean you’ll get rid of me _that_ easily.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, though Atsumu said it himself—it’s not going to be the same. It’s not at all the same thing.

Atsumu clears his throat. “Well then.”

Kiyoomi hums in reply, and Atsumu looks at him, still a certain hesitation in his eyes. His lips are pressed together with unspoken words Kiyoomi knows he’s only going to regret.

“Don’t miss your train,” he urges Atsumu.

“Hey, I still have a couple hours left!”

“Then you should use that time to make sure you won’t forget anything.”

“Yes, mother.” Atsumu rolls his eyes half-heartedly, and gives him another light pat on the shoulder. “Really, take care, okay? Don’t miss me too much.”

He adds the last part with a lightness bordering just on the edge of being too honest. It would feel like an insult if it wasn’t so hilariously ironic.

“I think I’ll manage,” Kiyoomi replies with a last touch to Atsumu’s shoulder, and Atsumu takes that as his go-ahead to truly take the last step outside and close the door behind him.

The resulting snap is not even loud but it reverberates in Kiyoomi’s ears like earth-shattering thunder—a fitting finale to all of this, the last applause to the tragedy of Kiyoomi’s cowardice. Maybe he takes a few minutes too long to catch his breath and walk away from the door, but he eventually continues with his morning as he usually would: he makes the bed, gets dressed, moves to the bathroom to brush his teeth—

There are still two toothbrushes in the cup by the sink. Atsumu’s glaring pink one stands out more than it ever has in the past couple of months it’s been sitting there.

He has half a thought to use this excuse, to run after Atsumu—but no, it’s ridiculous, Kiyoomi knows that he has his own at home. In fact, it’s the second one Atsumu has brought for this specific purpose, barring the very first one he borrowed from Kiyoomi.

He should throw it away, really. Kiyoomi hates unnecessary things more than anything, especially useless objects he knows he’ll never use again. He tries not to live in the past, and having old clutter lying around only serves to disturb his inner peace.

Kiyoomi looks at the toothbrush again and decides to ignore it for now, just like he’s ignoring the unfamiliar sting in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is not actually from the BTS song, but simply the meaning of "never seen" because. Well. You Know.
> 
> Anyway if you read until the end feel free to comment or whatever or look at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/emeraIdpalace/status/1358847583746199554?s=20) for more sakuatsu brainrot


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